


sunshine, lavender

by redlight



Series: monsterfuckers inc. [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (in the past), Breeding, Cock Warming, Come Inflation, Deepthroating, Degradation, Dehumanization, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Egg Laying, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Feminization, Forced Feminization, Genderfuck, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Manipulation, Mind Rape, Monsterfucking, Monsters, Oviposition, Painful Sex, Partial Mind Control, Prostitution, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sea Monsters, Sex Club, Sirens, Stockholm Syndrome, Underage Rape/Non-con, Vampires, Verbal Humiliation, body image issues, dead dove do not eat, gratuitous use of the term babydoll, happy Halloween fuckers, or lack of recovery, small vampire gets wrecked by evil siren businessman, some werewolf sex at the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2020-12-31 17:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21149315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlight/pseuds/redlight
Summary: nikki isn't exactly pretty—too pale, too gaunt, too skinny. he's the club's repairman 'cause he's lived longer than anyone else, and he knows how everything works, and he's too frail and small to try to fight anyone on it.that's why he isn't one of the dancers or one of the whores. he's not pretty.a very powerful client disagrees, unfortunately.





	1. babydoll

**Author's Note:**

> _finger guns_  
i fuckin love hurting my ocs man
> 
> yeah so this is brutal, mind the tags please, tell me if im missing anything,  
et cetera et cetera ok have fun with the gross monster porn thats what we're here for

☼

when the bosses want him dressed up, as much as it makes the moths scream in his stomach, nikki listens. well, he has to.

he isn't the pretty type. he's spent years and decades at odds with the ghost in the mirror, scrawny limbs and grave-pale skin—he isn't something nice to look at, he's delicate like degenerating bone tissue and just as gored inside. his freckles are like blood marrow smattered in dots, his hair is the shade of dead straw, his hips are skeletal. nikki isn't very pretty.

still, he's dressed up in delicate fabrics—sheer but not too sheer, cheap but not too cheap. green slipping off his too-skinny shoulders and a skirt that almost reaches his knees, buttons and laces and trinkets clinking and clanking when he moves too fast. he's a mannequin like this, faceless and bone white, but they want him in the laps of humans and monsters alike, so nikki has to be careful not to trip on his heels.

the other monsters here dress up far more often than he does—he's never been a showman, never up on stage, but the boss looked nikki up and down with gray storm eyes and said,_ c'mon, doll, let's put you in somethin' nice. the customers always like a pretty face servin' them._

nikki thinks about the blood and lack thereof on his face and the cracks in his mirror.

but he's still here, isn't he.

theo gives him a sympathetic glance, even though his eyes shine a bleary gold and he looks a little too hard at nikki. nikki's barefoot and vulnerable, see—too exposed without oversized flannels and sweaters, this is—too much. ivy-patterned dresses in mint green and his hair straightened back and pinned in place with a bow that makes him look horribly younger—it's a little too much, it's a lot too little, he just wants some cover and doesn't have his ghost mattress bedsheets to hide behind—

the boss gives nikki a list of tasks, the briefest of instructions, the slickest of grins. his hand is much too big around nikki's waist when he leads him out to the private rooms, even as nikki's ears ring with the threat of mattie growling against them_, he's not for service! fuck off!_ snarling and swearing until he got thrown into the solitary hole for being a bad dog.

but nikki is—good. a good doll. that's what the boss has in mind for him. even if his knees knock together in shakes, even if his stomach drops to his toes, even if his vertebra break.

he's left in the smaller client room—tacky decorations and a too soft sofa and a coffee table with a tea set on it, _be a good little maid, got it, you little tick? _said the boss, so nikki swallows heavily and sets the kettle up out of habit.

the skirt feels too short as it brushes up against the back of his thighs, and his heart feels too heavy as he tries to fill the cups up without spilling any of his fear. the door opens just as he finishes, loud and echoing, and he jumps and whines as he spills some hot water on his fingers.

then he clamps his mouth shut. nikki puts the kettle down and cautiously looks over his shoulder at the client.

the man is a lot bigger than nikki, but nikki isn't big. he's slim and slimy, he's grit and grime. but this man is _big_, in an expensive suit jacket and fine purple dress shirt that's tight on his shoulders. he steps far too close with far too loud steps, and nikki can't help but tense his shoulders and twist his fingers together as the man comes closer, to—to _inspect _him.

"no greeting for me, babydoll?"

_babydoll_ is so specific, makes nikki tense up—cameron used to call him that, his _boss _calls him that, and he—

"i'm sorry," comes out in a rush, and god nikki wants to _scream and scream and SCREAM AND SCREAM BLOOD IN HIS TEETH FLESH IN HIS HANDS _but no. he is a demure little doll. he doesn't give in to his monstrosity. "i'm sorry, sir—is there anything i can do for you?"

the man smiles and touches nikki's hair, twirling strands of it around his fingers and _dragging _his thumb down nikki's cheek like nails to a tombstone. there's the warmth of human flesh in the metal of his rings as they scrape on nikki's skin.

"you're going to be my doll."

_obviously_, nikki doesn't say. but he's already dressed up to his teeth being plastered flat, an uncomfortable guard in his mouth. but he nods.

"i'm going to be your doll," he says, almost unwillingly, almost unwanting, but he just tenses his shoulders and tries to smile as politely as possible.

it feels wrong.

and, well—nikki doesn’t usually get these assignments.

he just doesn’t really get _requested_. always holed up in the backroom cellar, adjusting the lights and sound systems, always running around behind the stage to make sure the equipment works just right. clients hardly see him unless he slips by to fix something in the main rooms, but this man looks at him with obsession and recognition, and nikki—

doesn't know what to do with that.

"c'mere, babydoll," the man says. he takes a seat on the sofa casually, knees spread wide, lap open. his grin is feral at the corners, business-like in theory, and nikki's throat is dried terribly.

"yes, sir." it's fucking _surreal_, 'cause nikki helped decorate this room, and he set up the lighting to dim and swell in variations of gothic colors using his own laptop and a lot of manuals on how to install lighting fixtures. now the purple and silver lights makes his eyes hurt, and he's trembling as he sits down in the man's lap, fingertips burnt secondhand from tea kettle screams.

he literally built his own hell. his own dollhouse, so to say.

distorted by purples and blues, nikki can see the man is darker-skinned than he is, sturdy and strong. a peek of a dark tattoo rests behind his shirt collar, a curiosity that nikki isn't allowed to ask about, so he tries to be comfortable on the man's lap as big hands clasp onto his thighs and pull him open a little.

"you're such a pretty thing," says the man. "i asked specifically for you, y'know? for the little vampire doll." nikki sniffles involuntarily. "they said i could break anything but your fingers."

nikki knows why his fingers are important—he's been alive so long he's the best repairman they've got. but nikki doesn't know _why_ he'd be asked for, specifically, and the thought honestly has bile rising up in his throat. he can't stop shivering.

he's got salamander eyes and hands as slippery and savage as fire, but his grin is gummy and his mouth is soft, so nikki walks into it.

the whiteness of his eyes are blurred, and his hands are big, too big, solid against nikki's shoulders. nikki feels small here, in a way he doesn't often. he feels like a dormouse being picked apart at the bones. he feels like his vertebrae are stuck in the teeth of a monster.

by all means, though, nikki himself is the monster, so he tries to blink his thoughts away and slips into the man's lap as gently and smoothly as he can. he can't, is the thing, not really. too gangly and too lanky with limbs like stretched taffy and skin already starting to stick with sweat between his thighs. the skirt isn't much of a shield and nikki is only so much of a doll, really, because he can't stop fidgeting.

"doll."

"yes, sir?"

"don't speak."

nikki doesn't.

he rests his ear against the beating trance of the man's heart, and he feels his own pulse float away. the man, his hands are too big again, one against the back of nikki's neck as pre-emptive breakage, and one is running up the sheer gauziness of the skirt. nikki feels weak. nikki feels full. nikki can't breathe.

"you're gonna do what i say, dolly. now look at me through those pretty eyelashes and say _yes, i need it, sir_," the man says, and nikki shivers and shakes and tries to pull back but he can't and he—

he says, "yes, i need it, sir," without meaning to, and then he straddles his lap and lifts up his skirt, _no no no NO—_

"a good doll," says the man, and he runs his hands up nikki's shirt, touches his stomach, his ribs, his intestines and his lungs—

nikki's mouth won't move won't scream won't move won't scream and—

"c'mon, babydoll, sit on my cock all pretty and quiet."

nikki's not prepped, nikki's dizzy and full of bile. slippery salamander hands only slide across his blistering skin, purple bruises bloom into nikki's skin for every harsh press against flesh, sarcomeres and skeleclasts are all he's got in his head, spin-spin-spinning to pieces—

no, nikki can't say, i'm not a doll. but dolls don't speak.

the man fucks him.

nikki's skirt gets dirtied, slime and slick sticking to his skin and leaving his skin damp and flushed. he can't breathe, not really, but the man notices and presses his fingers against nikki's chest and stimulates his lungbeat for him.

he takes up space inside nikki like blood does, and he fills nikki's little body up and up and up, 'til nikki is bursting and his eyes are blurring and he can't feel his toes anymore. his fingers are limp and he's open, bone marrow and lymph spilling out.

there are more ways to be dead than there are to be alive, nikki thinks blearily. but then he doesn't think, because dolls don't.

still.

still.

still.

nikki's still, but the man's hold weakens when he comes the first time. nikki hiccups and tries to wiggle free, but the man holds him _close _holds him_ tight_ without his inhuman pull—just with his strength. he's bigger than nikki. everything's bigger than nikki.

and nikki hasn't slept in years, not really, not for decades, but he whines and feels his thighs give out and his insides burn _hot_, maybe it's the magnetic pull or maybe it's been inside him all along, but the man must've taken a pill or two 'cause he's grinning with needle-plenty teeth into nikki's thin flesh.

his breath smells like sea salt, and he asks, _"are you ready to go again, sweetheart?_"

nikki wants to hope it's not out of his own volition, when he says, "yes, yes, y-yes sir _please_—" but there is no bloodpull inside him. only his own bubbling desire. and the nausea in his throat.

"thought so. be good and open your mouth, babydoll."

the man's fingers are _big _when they slip into nikki's mouth, stretching his lips and making him whine weakly in his throat. clothed with unbroken leather, the scent strong behind nikki's eyes, deep in nikki's lungs.

nikki is bruised open. his hole is twitching and leaking around the man's cock, his stomach shaking and shivering with the weight of come, and nikki can only lick weakly around those leather-coated fingertips.

"_thank you_," he whispers, unwillingly once again, sloppy around the fingers in his mouth. nikki's dollish and mechanical, but he can feel his hole clench down needily and it makes the sick in his stomach spiral all over again.

"you're so damn _good_ at this, dolly," the man rumbles, forceful as he starts to fuck into nikki's little frame again. "so fuckin' _good_, still and tight and tiny, just here for me to use, no will of your own—you're a delight, baby, you're a _dream_." the man's grin is blinking like a lighthouse in a storm, his voice is an ocean trench terror. "that's right, dollface, take my cock, _take it_—"

nikki's stuffed _full_ like this, about to break apart into pieces and pieces and pieces, sirensong ringing in his guts and ears and ribs, and he's too sensitive 'cause the man is fucking _in in in_, too deep and nikki can only sob weakly and quietly as he, he, he can't—

"_wait wait please it's too much," _nikki tries to beg, but something gets cut off and he's not speaking anymore, and he can't move to wiggle or squirm or _anything _and the man stuffs him full _over and over and over again_, bruising nikki's little hips and hole and soul, _too much too much too much—_

the man's teeth are needles aflame when he sinks them into nikki's ankle, his grip unrelenting as he forces nikki's legs over his shoulders, nikki can't move can't flinch can't _breathe_—

"_more_," he moans out, desperate and _slutty _and it's not him it's not him it's _not_—

"that's it, dollface, beg for it," the monster rasps out, and nikki breaks.

"_ah—breed me breed me, fill me up please—" _he can't _breathe _but words like bile spill from his mouth, heavy and sticky. "_make me full, give me your cubs, h-hah just—just—please—"_

"of course, doll."

something hot harsh heavy _horrid _slides into nikki, a globular bump, _hurting and stretching _his hole, not human not human _not human god he just wants to be human again—_

followed by another, and another, a whole cluster, as the monster-man grins and his many urchin-needle teeth sink past his fleshy lips, salt breeze of his breath filling up nikki's throat and lungs, wet and slippery and gooey as everything slips _inside nikki_—

nikki can't breathe. nikki drowns. nikki blacks out.

☼

he wakes up to water washing him down.

his tummy still feels horribly full and the water is cold and sharp and nikki seizes up like he's hydrophobic, but a sturdy grip keeps him steady and nikki—

_sobs_.

"he _hurt me he hurt me HE HURT ME_—"

"_shh,_" rings out in his ears, low and calm and warm and familiar. "shh, nikki, you're okay, you're safe, you're with me. breathe with me."

nikki hiccups, blurry eyes lifting to see matt, _mattie_, eyes wild and teal and shiny and the weakest gentlest smile on his face.

"_mattie—_"

"shh, baby, i'm here, i'm here, i got you—"

"i'm still _full_—"

matt's hands tremble where they're on nikki's skin. "i know, nikki. i'm sorry, i—i can try to help—"

nikki's cheeks are sopping wet with tears and he curls up further into matt's chest, his shaking fingers reaching down past his stomach to _touch_—

"there's still a few left," matt rasps out. "i was hoping you wouldn't wake up 'til they're all gone."

"w-what—what _are they_?"

"god—" matt sounds a little broken. nikki's not sure. nikki's not human enough to tell. "the—the client wasn't a normal human, nikki, he was—was merfolk, or something, a siren—shh darling _darling _don't scratch yourself you'll hurt yourself—"

"take them out," nikki pleads, scraping his bitten nails over his stomach, too much, _too much_, he doesn't feel like nikki. "mattie i need you _please _take them out _please_—"

matt takes a shuddering breath but nikki can't focus, not really, not _really_, but he can feel matt's big hands on him, on his belly, reaching down to his hole _gentle gentle—_

it makes nikki's thighs shake. makes him moan weakly, hide his face in matt's neck, "_please please please—"_ and being able to use his mouth in any way he wants sets him alight in euphoria.

they slip out of nikki heavily with matt rubbing circles and playing with his hole to help soothe them out, slick and sticky, and when nikki's eyes focus again he can see clearly that they're small purple eggs the size of golf balls.

he whines, broken, and he clings to matt. his mattie, _his_, mattie would never ever hurt him, mattie only takes care of him—

"fuck me," nikki says, and it's all his own words, and his mouth works like he wants it to. "fuck me, fill me up, knot me—"

"nikki, baby, i think you should rest—"

"_do it,_" nikki seethes, voice dropping into subterrain range and hitching with vampire-charm. "_please_."

matt hesitates.

"you'll _tell me_ if you need me to stop," matt says. "right, beautiful? i _never _wanna hurt you, if i see that _client _again i'll fucking _**kill him**_, i will, i _never _want you hurt—"

nikki's so empty.

"you won't hurt me. so now _fuck me_."

so matt does. so nikki gets whole again.

the week continues on as normal.

☼


	2. sharkbait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the client comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup theres more

☼

kolya has never seen the ocean in his life.

he grew up on a farm, see. his parents were immigrants to the fresh fields of wheat, to a railroad made of gold built on the bones of others unseen. he grew up on a farm, with pretty cows and milk to sell in town, with crops to grow and wheat to mill, with a hoard of siblings to share the labor with.

kolya was only a boy when he went missing, is the thing.

he did as much as he could around the farm, and he helped mama watch after the little twins after papa died, and he fought with tati too much and bickered with lyosha but it's all in good fun for siblings, wasn't it? and he'd never seen the ocean outside of the books callin' it _blue_, outside of the descriptions the pretty movie actresses read aloud from scripts when the first picture theater opened in the town closest to them.

kolya went missing in 1919. he was a kid. he was 15. he hopes his mama thought he caught the flu and died in the middle of the street, maybe it'd be easier on her, thinkin' that. but that's never what happened.

nikolai dmitriyevich kaminsky went missing from his pretty hometown—

(—is it home? they were foreigners, and mama popped the callouses on her worn hands whenever someone pointed out her heavy accent and the shape of her childrens' noses, her honey cake perfume sweet and her lips chapping from her grinding teeth,_ we don't say a word, kolya, we don't, even if we want to—_)

—in 1919. it was august. his nails bled from digging them into coffin boards. he thought he was buried alive.

kolya died that year.

he was strangled and choked. he was ruined and broken. he was raped. he was hurt. he died. that's the end of it.

nikki is left.

("_nikolai is too hard, darling. couldn't you just be a nicholas, perhaps? nick for short? oh, what's with that face, darling, it's too pretty for a frown—smile or i'll fucking break it_.")

see, that's the thing—mr. clarence thought he was pretty.

see, when nikki was somethin' like 18, 19, he don't really remember it no more, he was **turned**. he remembers the man who did it. his name was mr. clarence. nikki had to call him mr. clarence, and mr. clarence _waited _to turn him.

mr. clarence liked brunettes, see, with hair so dark it's almost night-black. he'd wanted a petite girl, see. he was pissed when he didn't get that.

instead he had nikki. dandelion-pest-blonde, gangly limbs, freckles and fear and a nose that got punched in far too often.

mr. clarence said it was good that nikki was _small_ at least, darling, and _don't talk with that filthy mouth, get rid of that accent—we're civilized, in this house. do not let me catch you speaking like that again._

his nails were sharp, digging into nikki's skin. _you look nothing like my wife_, he had said, dark and desolate, and often. his teeth were all too sharp and his smile dripped onto nikki's skin like candle wax on a bad day.

nikki was scared, sure, but that had become a part of his everyday like the wheatfields used to be, in another world a million miles away.

"y-you have m-me," nikki had said, like a braindead fucking idiot. like a naive _bitch_. "y-you have me, so i—i can be—whatever you'd like."

mr. clarence's nails were knives and his teeth sharper.

_you wouldn't want to be my wife, sweet one._

and the darkness in mr. clarence's voice made nikki's blood run cold, after years of being here, train to train for count and country, he's gotten used to being fearful and he's gotten used to being a _whore_, but here he regrets something more than anything ever else.

mr. clarence grinned. _you wouldn't want to, but you did ask_.

and that was that.

nowadays nikki is new. he's had a set of scars around his neck since literally forever. bitemarks and bruisestains. he is collared by his body, he is imprisoned by his bloodlust. becoming a vampire might've been the second-worse night of his life.

nikki kaminsky has died twice, you see.

so to say, he doesn't consider his years to be so bad if he compartmentalizes. he's bounced from province to province, country to country, state to state, really—he doesn't wanna see the midwest or head back home, because he has no use for wheat and farmlands, and he doesn't mind the cows when he sees them. he's seen desert sand and lakes great-drained, whenever mr. clarence showed him to business meetings and councils, but he's never seen the ocean until he's here, in the club he works at.

he's still 18 or 19, he thinks, but he's also something over a century, which must be an interesting fun fact for any of the new clientele. he's the best repairman this club's got, because he's stopped counting the years. it's just easier.

mr. clarence hasn't visited in years, and nikki's bitemarks _ache_ when he thinks of that too long.

(he has thirteen. neck, thighs, ankles, wrists, one right below his belly button trying to declare that he's human. is it luck or unluck, he wonders?)

see, for all nikki has never seen the ocean, he finally does when he drowns.

☼

his name is _mr. kane_, and he is going to be a regular client.

"they can't do that to you," matt says, but his voice is a growl and his eyes are hyena-wild. "we saw what happened last time, they'll—"

"you got thrown in the hole last time," nikki mumbles. "just—it'll be fine, it'll be _fine_, i don't want you to fight about it or anythin'—"

matt snarls, big hands wrapping tight around nikki's wrists. "he _hurt you_."

"people hurt you," nikki remarks. matt only seems to get worked up these days if the newer kids gotta be taken off _for use and sale_, for fun and feral, but nikki didn't think _he_ would be included with the younglings. "and you don't give a shit."

it's the wrong thing to say. matt's brows are drawn up, and he's too dark-skinned to see a flush on his cheeks but nikki can feel the heat radiating from his anger.

"m-mattie?"

"_he fucking hurt you._" matt lets go of nikki's wrists. "if i see him again i'm gonna kill him. that's that."

nikki whines low in his throat. "that's not—mattie, he's comin' back, his name is _mr. kane_, he's—he's a siren i think, but the boss wants me to be ready 'cause he likes me—"

"_fuck them!_ fuck what they want, i don't care, i'm gonna—"

"_you can't_, you can't, mattie—" nikki finally blubbers out. "they'll kill you and—that can't happen, you can't do anythin' stupid mattie _please please please_."

matt looks like he's the furthest thing from happy. but he growls and turns away.

"you say the _word _and i'll kill him, okay, nikki?" matt says. "and i know you're gonna say it. i just dunno why you wanna subject yourself to _more _of this."

nikki doesn't know either.

☼

his name is mr. seamus kane and he likes nikki in a skirt short enough to hurt. he seems to like nikki's scalpel-sharp hip-bones, nikki's shattering complexion, and he wants something like a wife to make into his own.

"hello, sir," nikki stammers out, and mr. kane thinks it's cute, probably, because his siren-song eyes are shimmering and his sharp-needle hands dig holes into nikki's scars, and, and, and it's nothing new anyway.

"oh, hello, darlin'," says the man, because to give the man—_is he a man? is it man or monster, when nikki is kept caged up to serve clients worse than himself, where's the line, boss, where do we draw it?_—"you certainly dressed up even prettier than last time."

maybe nikki did, see, 'cause the fabric's more expensive and silkier—the boss decided to waste some more resources on him, maybe it'll turn a profit in the end. nikki dimly wonders what his price is. is it high? it can't be, because nikki isn't even a dancer or a worker, and he doesn't even have any other clients who aren't _mr. kane_ but, but, maybe that's a factor—

mr. seamus kane dresses real nice, though. suit that feels tacky between nikki's pale-numb fingertips, and straddling his hips has nikki yelp from the static electricity that binds fabric together.

his dress isn't too nice, but it's—cute, maybe. beryl green and lacy, short sleeves and flowery socks. hadia gave him a crooked-pitying grin with vamp-teeth like his when she saw it, _hey cutie pie!_ mattie sighed so quiet and hurting but said nikki looked nice, pretty, beautiful, 'til nikki would be blushing if he had enough blood in his veins to do it.

theo ruffled his hair gently, then leaned in close and whispered in his ear, said there's a panic button in the room, hidden in the bed's headboard, _for the love of god, press it and we'll come._

it's surprising, who _installed that_, 'cause nikki didn't and it—doesn't seem like something the bosses would do, but—

well. nikki will figure it out if he finds it.

the man's hands are so damn big against nikki's thighs, hips, and he bites up into nikki's throat—shark teeth and shards, nikki squeaks 'cause he's _scarred there_, but—

"babydoll, someone's fucked you since the last i did, huh? thought i wouldn't notice?"

nikki freezes. his throat hurts _bad_ with this fear, razorblades cutting through his larynx, scraping esophagus walls and dissolving into mercury-liquid in the base of his stomach. "s-sir?"

"i don't think your boss explained to you what i _want_, so i'll let you off the hook for now, darlin'—but you're mine now.

you're _**MINE**_ now."

_no._

no no no no—

nikki's mouth won't move, won't move, and nothing but an aborted scream arises from the back of his throat.

mr. kane's claws strike into his thighs, dig _deep_ but no blood flows ‘cause nikki is starving and never has enough.

“do you understand, doll?”

“_i do,_” nikki says frantically. “i do, i understand, i’m sorry sir i’m sorry—!”

where does he stop thinking, where does the control begin?

"_good_. c'mere, darlin'," mr. kane says. "give me a kiss."

nikki does. he tries to keep his teeth from chattering, tries not to think about his chapped lips sticking with the grease of liquid lipstick, clinging minutely to mr. kane's mouth and teeth, _i'm the vampire i'm supposed to be the teeth the jaws the monster—_

kissing isn't meant for monsters, so this isn't a real kiss. instead nikki gets lukewarm lips against his own, spiraling kisses down his veiny, pale neck—they must look a sight together, freakshow on freakshow, a horror meeting ugly.

this time mr. kane lays him flat on his back, big rough hands dragging up through the scar tissue on nikki's thighs. his green skirt is mussed up and spread open, lace starting to stick with sweat and sea salt. nikki doesn't have a very fast heartbeat, because he is very very close to being dead, but—

well. maybe it's almost passable for a pulse, with kane's hands on him like this.

"do you—" nikki gasps as teeth sink into the scars on his throat, tracing and pulling out old wounds from beneath his scratchy, bitter surface. "a-ah! d-do, d-do you get off o-on this?" he whines out, trying to withhold a squeak as mr. kane gets his thighs around his waist, skirt splayed open as clawed hands tug and pull at soft panties the boss made him put on, watchful eyes watching nikki's trembling legs—

"do you, do you get off on hurtin' me, sir?" nikki finally whimpers out, and he shrieks as claws scrape against his wretchedly-hardening cock, dragging lines against his inner thighs until a thumb is pressing harsh against his hole. "s-sir—"

"talkin' too _much _for me, doll," kane says wryly, and puts two fingers against nikki's mouth—and nikki can't protest, can only feel the rumble and roar of the ocean in his head as he wraps his lips around salty fingertips and sucks as hard as he can against them.

he feels like a little slut, doing it. it makes him shake, it makes the knots in his belly tighten up, makes—

makes him spread his legs wider.

nikki wants to beg for prep, this time, for the stretching that kane didn't give him, but it's only so much—and kane's grinning harsh and violent as he hikes nikki's legs up higher, his own slacks becoming unbuttoned with flighty desperate hands. sharp bristle teeth slide past kane's moniker of human lips, and nikki is briefly reminded that this is all a puppet show and he's the prime puppet, that he's the the entertainment, and he sniffles and shuts his eyes tight—

"so desperate, huh darling," kane murmurs, and then he pulls away, leaving nikki shivery and needy on the mattress. "c'mere, darlin'. suck my cock."

"h-huh?" but nikki's knees fit the floor _hard_, jolting a spike of real-human-fleshling pain through his whole body, spiking up his nerves and making his teeth clatter. he hasn't felt immediate nerve-pain like this in _decades_.

"open your pretty little mouth," kane says, his voice wavering up and down with _song _and _power _and barely-withheld aggression. "and suck. my. cock."

nikki whimpers and crawls over to him.

it's odd, taking account of mr. kane's cock—heavy and velvet against nikki's shivering fingers, _hot_ in his hands and blood rushing beneath the skin making nikki's head spin, his mouth salivate, his knees weak—nikki's teeth are trying to slice through his dreadful teeth plaster, and he has to pull back and _whine_.

"i, i'm sorry, sir, i just, it's hard for me—" nikki yelps as claws drag across his chin, as he feels them cut into his jawline.

"you ain't that stupid, babydoll," mr. kane says wryly. "just _fucking_ do it."

there is a violence in his words so of course nikki does.

the salt on his dry tongue makes nikki whimper. still, he licks at the head of kane's cock, heavy and leaking, before sliding his lips down and taking as much of the shaft as he can in his mouth.

it's too much, it's too much, because nikki's taken cock down his throat before but his eyes fill with tears as kane forces himself in all the way to the root, nikki's nose wrested up against scratchy hairs, salt and salt and salt _everywhere he's so dizzy_—

it's ridiculous, that this is the closest nikki kaminsky is ever gonna get to the ocean.

he gargles and gags weakly around the cock stuck inside him, like it's trying to seek home and stasis in his rib cage, stretching his jaw and aching his throat.

it'd be easier if nikki let himself relax for once. it'd be so, so much easier. and nikki's just tired of _difficult_.

it hurts, makes him ache, but nikki gives up.

kane's thrusting roughly into his mouth, making some effort to tug and tear at nikki's hair, jolts and jarrings in a skeletal countenance. and when he comes, nikki drowns, and he swallows the sea salt and sobs a plea and—

kane’s cock _expands expands expands_ and it’s _too much_ and suddenly nikki’s pulling away, gasping and choking gooey half-smushed egg residue (_inhuman inhuman inhuman_) clings to his teeth and throat, he’s gagging and _gagging_ as heavy weight drops onto his thighs, _splotch, splatch_—

“pretty little wife,” mr. kane rumbles out. “i’d like you to _swallow_, next time.”

nikki sniffles and shakes his head frantically. “no, no, i can’t i’d choke, they’re too big—”

mr. kane gently rubs the head of his soft cock against nikki's cheek. nikki wants to heave. he wants to wretch. his whole body shivers into shards. “guess i’ll just have to stuff your _cunt_ with them, next time. does that sound good, broodslut? having your sloppy little hole so full again?”

nikki can’t _breathe_. somehow he speaks, "y-yes sir, t-t-thank you, sir." and it's not mind control, it's not the marine man's siren song that makes him say it, but—

"_i, i like being your wife, sir,_" nikki murmurs shyly, wiping at the snot that’s started to stick to his nose. his stomach wretches and rolls. he flutters his teary eyelashes like good whores do.

and mr. kane's grin is feral, and mr. kane's grin is bristled, and mr. kane's grin is knived. "good. good slut. not so bad, bein’ sharkbait, huh, dolly?”

before he leaves, kane says, "i'll see you again next week, princess."

nikki, a crumpled, disheveled heap on the ground, already ruined and desperate with the thought of _next week next week next week_, presses his thighs together.

there’s no sense of control, but he doesn’t hit the panic button. he just tells his boss that he can’t do any repairs on this day anymore.

that’s when his _sir_ visits, after all.  
  


☼

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nikki might think hes not under the mind control but its not like he really knows that is it?


End file.
